


Anytime

by BansheeLydia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, Blood, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 18:11:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6125542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BansheeLydia/pseuds/BansheeLydia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finally, he drags in a deep, shuddering breath and says:</p>
<p>“Stiles killed someone.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anytime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nezstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/gifts).



Braeden’s in São Paulo when Scott finally manages to get in contact with her.

It’s been four months since she was last in Beacon Hills and it’s been two since she last spoke to anyone there. She’s been on a job and hasn’t had chance to contact them, and she regrets not leaving them a surefire way of getting hold of her before she left. 

The plastic of the telephone is hot and creaks as she tightens her grip, listening intently while Scott rambles, trying to explain the situation as quickly as possible. Impatience shoots through her but she lets Scott talk, trying to understand what’s happened, why he sounds so lost. 

Finally, he drags in a deep, shuddering breath and says:

“Stiles killed someone.”

*

She gets in touch with her client the same day. She doesn’t explain why she’s not finishing the job, simply tells him to find someone else and pays back the deposit he’d put in her account.

She’s on a flight the next day.

*

It’s dark when Braeden gets to Beacon Hills. 

It’s been almost four days since Stiles killed someone. She still doesn’t understand entirely what happened; just that shortly after she left, something targeted the pack, and they’d spent weeks trying to find it, to stop it from killing innocents. It had come to a head when Stiles ended up killing someone in self defence. The pack had come out on top and whatever - whoever - it was had left, but Stiles is different. He isn’t taking what had happened, what he’d had to do, well.

Braeden has always known it would happen eventually. The life that they lead, the things Stiles is involved with, it’s brutal. It’s dangerous. One day he’d end up having to make a choice he’d hate, a choice that would change him, and now it’s happened. 

She still wishes she’d been wrong. That this day had never come. 

She goes straight to Stiles’ apartment complex, uses the spare key he’d given her months ago. Stiles’ apartment is dark but she knows he’s here; she knows Scott’s outside, keeping an eye on his best friend from afar. 

Braeden finds him in his bedroom and when she flicks on the light, the sight cuts her to the core.

Stiles is sat in the middle of his bed and it’s instantly obvious that he hasn’t washed; his shirt is torn and dirty, his jeans and shoes caked in mud. His hair is a mess, matted with dirt and blood, and he hasn’t shaved. His hands are stained red, blood flecked on his face, and he’s curled in tight on himself, eyes wide and staring sightlessly at the wall.

There’s a lamp shattered on the floor by the door; evidence of Scott’s last attempt to come in, to _help_. But he doesn’t react to seeing Braeden. He doesn’t look surprised to see her, even though this thing between them has always been casual so far; she comes to Beacon Hills for a visit, they end up in bed together, they kiss and they come and they have fun, and she leaves. But the feelings that have always been there bubbling under the surface are burning through her now.

“Stiles,” she says quietly, approaching the bed.

He lifts his head slightly, amber eyes fixing on her, and they fill with tears. “I stabbed him,” he whispers.

“You had to. It was self defence.”

“I know,” his voice cracks and he squeezes his eyes closed. “I know.”

Braeden sits down on the bed, reaches out to him. A shudder rocks him at the first touch of her hand on his shoulder and then he’s pitching forward, body curling in against hers, and Braeden wraps her arms around him, holding him close.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she insists. “It’s okay, Stiles. It’s okay.”

She repeats it like a mantra until Stiles stops crying, until he finally goes still and limp. She rubs his back gently but stops when he gives a quiet, hurt sound, and she can feel the frayed edge of a rip in his shirt where he’s been wounded.

She needs to check his wound and he needs to sleep, but first she needs to clean the blood off his hands. Braeden stands and Stiles goes with her, letting her lead him into his tiny bathroom. He’s uncharacteristically quiet as she runs a bath, arms folded over his stomach, just watching. 

“I’m going to undress you,” Braeden says softly. “Is that okay?”

He swallows, nods, and Braeden removes his clothes, setting them aside. She’ll burn them later, but for now she just tucks them out of sight and straightens. Stiles gets into the tub without coaxing, muscles relaxing as he sinks into the hot water. Dirt and blood swirls into the water and Braeden sits down next to the bath. 

They don’t need to talk, not right now. Stiles is too tired, too lost, still, and Braeden’s said what she’s needed to for now. She grabs a cloth and gently cleans Stiles. There’s a cut on his lower back that looks like it came from a knife, deep and oozing blood sluggishly still, and she thinks it might be infected having been left untreated. She cleans dirt out of it carefully, resolving to take Stiles to the hospital once he’s slept. She can’t stand the shadows underneath his eyes, knows that if he saw himself in the mirror they’d remind him of another time he’d hated himself and the things he’d done. 

The cloth joins the pile of clothes to be destroyed and Braeden grabs the showerhead, switching it on and waiting until the water runs warm before sluicing water over Stiles’ hair, washing out the worst of the grime. She massages shampoo in and Stiles’ eyes close, exhaustion and relief sweeping across his features.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and she replies:

“Anytime.”

Braeden rinses the shampoo out and cleans Stiles’ face before pulling the plug out of the tub. Stiles stands and she grabs a towel, wrapping it around him. While he dries off, Braeden finds a plastic bag and shoves the ruined clothes and washcloth inside, followed by the sheets from Stiles’ bed. She finds clean ones in the closet and makes the bed, then grabs a pair of sweatpants and a shirt, taking them through to Stiles.

“You’re going to get some sleep,” she tells him firmly but not unkindly. “And then you’re going to eat something and let me take you to the hospital. Your wound needs to be treated.”

Stiles licks his lips, voice hoarse as he says, “I don’t...I can’t go there right now.”

Braeden wonders what memory is causing the pain in Stiles’ eyes, but she doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to know just how much this man has been hurt. “Let me take you to Melissa, then,” she compromises and Stiles nods.

Once he’s dressed, Braeden ushers him into the bedroom. She doesn’t think darkness would benefit him right now, but the lamp is broken, so she leaves the overhead light on and yanks the curtains closed while Stiles slips into bed, tugging the sheets tightly over his body. 

“Stay?” he asks.

Braeden’s already removing her boots. She shucks off her jeans and slips into bed, curling up close. Stiles’ fingers find their way into her hair, stroking slowly, and he closes his eyes, breathing even. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

She presses a gentle kiss to his shoulder. “Anytime.”

**Author's Note:**

> allirica.tumblr.com - come say hi? :)


End file.
